Common Purpose
by OuyangDan
Summary: A gift fic written for Rexregirebellis, who requested a pairing between my Cousland Warden and Sebastian in a very angsty setting. These things take time, yo.
1. Chapter 1

The world is a vampire, sent to drain

secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames

and what do I get, for my pain

betrayed desires, and a piece of the game

even though I know-I suppose I'll show

all my cool and cold like old Job. ~ The Smashing Pumpkins

_The Hanged Man._

Well, wasn't that a clever name for a tavern? The sign that hung outside had just about as much class as the name of the establishment lead her to believe she'd find indoors.

Irrespective of the condition of the part of town she was in, or the faded grotesque sign, or the well-worn planks of the floor when she walked in, or the various degrees of hygiene of the patrons inside, all of the information she'd paid damned good coin to get told her she'd find what she was looking for here.

Or, _who_, rather.

It stank like piss and cheap ale, and people complained that Ferelden smelled. Kahrin wrinkled her nose and it made the tattoo wrinkle around her hazel eyes as she pulled a bitter face.

The tattoo that her brother had taken her to get on her eighteenth year. Back during happier times. Back when she had a family. Back before an usurping regent had allowed a climber to make an example of her house.

Back before a Blight had torn the country apart, before Tainted blood had touched her lips. Before she'd met _him_ with all of his complications and she'd heard all of his promises and had put her hopes in him.

Before her rage and thirst for vengeance had helped her cut a swathe through a horde of darkspawn. Before desperation had forced her hand and she'd had to make a choice that had finally driven a wedge between her duty and the promise of a new future.

Before she'd watched _him_ storm off in a huff and she'd been forced to put that betrayer's daughter on the throne.

And now here she was, chasing down little more than a ghost for answers that might never come. She wasn't sad or hurt anymore. She'd sailed beyond that as surely as she'd sailed across the sea that had brought her to Kirkwall looking for him, in a city ravaged by a war and sitting on the remains of a crumbled chantry. She peaked at pissed off, and that is where she stayed even now as she searched for the deserting Bastard. It pushed her on, and most days it felt better than the emptiness she felt over everything she'd lost.

She'd heard the rumours and she knew that more of her mistakes had left shadows here on the city-state. While she'd been off, searching, the mage whose life she'd spared by defying the Queen and the Chantry had gone and done the unthinkable and made her look foolish. This mess, the death and the destruction, like everything else lying behind her, could be traced to her and her decisions. Things that had seemed like the right thing to do at the time lie mocking her openly in piles of rubble and injured or dying people.

A quick scan of the room showed nothing, and her senses confirmed what she'd already known. It was silly of her to think that she'd find the Bastard here so early in the day. Her informants had told her he spent the better part of his days in a bottle – she could relate – and she knew that it was too early to be awake with the kind of hangover she'd heard he drank himself into these days.

She sauntered to the bar, plates on her greaves scraping and lips pressed thin, beginning to feel like she'd wasted her time coming here. The place was mostly deserted, save a few people in commoner clothing, and one man who stood out as obviously as she did, wearing highly polished and fairly ridiculously ornate white armour. It did mark him, however, as someone of her station and possibly not a waste of her time to speak to. His head of auburn hair was bent over a bowl of what she could only imagine they were trying to pass off as food.

Kahrin sighed inwardly. A man that clean in a place like this was either also here for information, or he was lost. Either way, there was a good chance he stank less than the other patrons, and she was tired of talking to herself and endless strings of useless people with no results.

Rolling her shoulders against the weight of her swords on her back, she strode confidently to his table, holding her chin up to give her the advantage of every bit of her five feet and one inch.

"Serah, is this seat taken?" She arched her Cousland Eyebrow at him as he startled, his cerulean eyes widening at her as if he hadn't expected anyone to actually speak to him. His brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed and he nodded once at the chair across from him. He took in her armour, identifying her as easily as if she'd worn a sign around her neck.

"Please, Ser Warden. Have a seat." He inclined his head, though his voice was cold.

She offered a hand, and he took it and shook it once, turning her palm down. He had courtly manners, she noted. Obviously Marcher nobililty. "Cousland," she said simply. "Call me Cousland. My name is Kahrin. People forget you have names when you carry titles."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Forgive me, milady. That was a Ferelden nobility name. Were they not-"

"Murdered?" She said dryly. "All but myself and my brother, yes."

"Ahh. So that makes you-"

"The Hero of Ferelden, yes. In a manner of speaking, I suppose." The perpetual frown on her face had formed creases at the corners of her mouth.

"You have my sympathies for what happened to your family, milady."

"I don't wish for nor need them, serah." It was a dry and crisp response given automatically now after years.

He shook his head. "You misunderstand me." His voice had a pleasant lilt to it even as it was tinged with … something else. She waved her hand and a bar maid who looked suspiciously like she'd been sipping more than serving brought her a mug of ale and a bowl of whatever he was picking at. It had … meat in it. "My entire family was also murdered" and when he said the last word it sort of rolled over his tongue in a fairly musical way in his accent.

Her frown deepened.

"Then you have my sympathies as well, Serah … "

"My manners. I am Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven."

The Vaels of Starkhaven. She knew the name. She was familiar enough with the Marcher lines. She had heard about them, memorized nobility names growing up under the eyes of her tutors.

She inclined her head, but only slightly. The irony of running across one prince while she hunted another was not lost on her. "Forgive me, but what brings you to Kirkwall? We're a ways off from Starkhaven, Your Highness." She pushed the bowl away, giving up on identifying anything edible in it, trying to keep her hunger from adding to the terseness in her voice.

His face hardened into a frown. "I'm looking for someone. And this is the last place I saw them." The determined look on his face was one she knew well. It was the hardened expression of betrayal and loneliness.

"As am I." She didn't know why she'd offered that. Perhaps it was because his lonely expression matched her own hollow feeling. She certainly didn't think that he would be able to help her, nor she him. But, it had been a long time since anyone had offered her a word of kindness, and it felt good to try to attempt one now. "He was a friend once. More than that really. And he betrayed me."

Sebastian met her eyes hard for a moment. "Betrayal by a friend is a hard thing to endure, serah Cousland. While I don't believe the Maker tries us beyond what we can endure, some hardships test us to our limits. I was betrayed by a friend also. She aided in the murder of a good woman who meant the world to me. And now I am looking for her and the murderer. What they took from me I can never get back."

She'd once been an extremely tactile person. There had been a time when she would have reached across the table and lain a comforting hand on his arm. She'd long been a person who was able to assuage grief with a simple touch, for whom brushing hair over an ear had been a reactive action. That had long ago been wiped out. Yet, even now, her hand reached over and patted his. He flinched slightly, almost imperceptibly, yet it was enough that she recoiled and pulled her own back reflexively.

There was a pregnant pause before either of them spoke again.

"The mage I seek was once a Grey Warden like yourself." He narrowed his eyes at her chest plate, the etched double griffon as much an announcement as a symbol. He looked at it as if it offended him.

"The man I hunt once was too. But you don't get to just leave." Her voice took on a grit with the last word. Recognition clicked with his pointed comment, and the sting of all the events clicked together. "Your Highness, I think we may have a common purpose, and I think we may be able to assist one another."

This earned her a raised eyebrow on his high forehead. He palmed a bow in his hand now, running fingers over the fine grain of the smooth wood, glossy from years of care and use. It was remarkable, even when compared to the one that Nathaniel had used.

Before she'd killed him.

She would have no foul-tempered memory of Rendon around. He'd raised a hand to her and all the memories of the father flashed before her eyes and projected upon the son.

"I don't need help. I've got sources-"

"And I am uniquely qualified to help you. I have something you don't, and that your princely pockets can't buy." She leveled his gaze. "Help me find my quarry, and I will help you find yours. You know the Free Marches, and my blood is connected to them both."

The confusion on his face smoothed some of his features for a moment. "Your blood?"

"In addition to the many other fine benefits of Wardening, including early death and having monsters in my dreams and head, it connects me to other Wardens." she arched her Cousland Eyebrow at him again.

"And you would be willing to, what? Use that to help me find my murderer?"

"I would. If you'd help me find my deserter." She didn't even blink as she said it, flat and emotionless. She wasn't sure yet what she would do when she found them, but if it meant finding _him_ and making him answer for walking out on her, she'd gladly take the assistance of this prince and offer hers to him. The driven look on his face told her she could depend on him, if not quite trust him.

It was going to be a while before trust ever entered her mind.

He offered his hand to hers and she grasped it and the shook firmly this time, and she welcomed the contact of another person and of a common purpose.

"It seems we have an agreement, serah Cousland."

"Call me Kahrin, Your Highness."

"Call me Sebastian, if we are to be partners, Kahrin."

"Deal."


	2. Chapter 2

Maybe we're all children of a star

misguided in direction, our misdirection

pardon me while I pray for light

I'm not the only one,

that walks between the rain, there are many.

I'm not the only one,

When everything is lost, that doesn't surrender. ~(Per)version of the truth, Mudvayne

He'd forgotten what it was like to have someone around to just simply listen to him speak.

It was part of what had made him enjoy giving the readings during services at the Chantry in Kirkwall. The feeling of speaking and knowing that his words would reach ears of people who were there to listen to him.

It was part of what had endeared Elthina to him. It didn't matter how petulant, impetuous or childish he'd seemed, and he'd had plenty of those moments during his time as a lay brother. She'd always listened to him. Always made time for him. After his parents sent him to the Chantry she'd taken to him. After they'd been slain she'd come to look after him.

Elthina.

His hands clenched into fists and he closed his eyes against the memory of the shrapnel of the Chantry falling around them as they stood in the Gallows courtyard. Ashes falling like snowflakes gently against his face, and he remembered wiping one away and wanting to retch, realizing it could be the remains of one of his sisters from the Chantry. The remains of the innocent as _she_ stood in front of him deigning to justify _his_ actions and going so far as to stand in front of him. Throwing what he'd thought had been a friendship away.

He drew his bow and ran his hands over the smooth wood, drawing comfort from the same wood that his grandfather had graced with his own fingers. He pulled a bit of serenity from it. When life ran out of control he'd always been able to come back to this. To the feel of the tension on the string and the discipline it took to center on a target, to hold a breath while he would aim, to release the arrow and breath as it flew true to find its mark.

His new companion rode on the gelding in front of him with practiced ease. She'd clearly been no stranger to horses growing up. She spoke easily to the animal, knowing that she had to become familiar with it before presuming to ride it. She ran one gauntleted hand along the dark coat speckled with white and checked each striped foot carefully before every ride. She had the ability to coo at the horse in a soothing voice and then somehow heft herself up onto it as if she were much larger than she was, fitting into the saddle easily. That was the only sign that she had any softness to her at all under her terseness.

The reason she could listen to him so well was that she didn't speak unless addressed directly. She didn't seem to be ignoring him, however. She occasionally lifted an eyebrow in his direction, though the rest of her face remained mostly expressionless. Either way, the addition of another person to his mission was comforting, if not something that kept him slightly on edge. He didn't need distractions and the anger radiating from her exceeded his own.

Good as her word she threw herself into his cause, and they pooled resources. She had maps and missives from a network of Wardens from across half the Free Marches. She never really revealed who she was searching for, except that he was a fellow Warden and a deserter. Deserters were not allowed, and she didn't say why, but for now at least, Kahrin's purpose aligned with his, and that meant using the same resources to find the mage and _her_.

He didn't tell the Cousland woman as much yet, but _her_ brother, he knew, had become a Warden a few years back as well. He didn't know where he was now, but perhaps if they found him then he could be persuaded to assist them.

He'd already proven he was willing to go to extreme measures to get his information. Even he'd never known he'd go that far. But could he do that to her brother? If he was a Warden, then Kahrin would be able to help him, if what she had said about her blood was the truth. In that case, he should have some time to think about what they would do when they found these Wardens. He wasn't sure yet what they would do when they found them, but a few months ago he didn't expect that he would have had to choose to retake his throne in an effort to begin a mission to exact justice either.

Sometimes you did things you didn't particularly enjoy to in order to accomplish what had to be done. Let the Maker judge him if his actions were incorrect.

He pulled himself into the saddle of his own horse, giving a brief and absent rub along the animal's long neck, the metallic sheen of the mare's almost lack of hair glinting slightly, having a glittering effect in the low sun of the evening. They turned and continued to pick their way East, staying between the coast and the Vimmarks.

Much to his almost irritation they stopped in each and every tavern along the way so she could comb the inhabitants. It never took her long. She would stride into the room, her face stoic, scan the patrons briefly, then pause as if in contemplation or meditation for a moment or two. With little more than a twitch of her eye, she would spin on a heavily booted heel and nearly shoulder past him with no word.

He took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes slightly. "You might tell me what we are doing, Serah Cousland. This is the fifth one of these places you have insisted upon stopping in today, and each time with no progress. You said we would find these Wardens." His jaw clenched imperceptibly.

"I'm searching. I told you that I would."

"You also told me you could sense them."

She stopped and looked at him, no expression at all on her face, her eyes may as well have been dead for all the flatness in the hazel colour, something that reflected in his own chest. When she spoke, though, there was an edge to it, sharp as the blades she'd spent the last night honing. "It's not magic. I can't just pinpoint them. I have to be in a vicinity. Now, if you are finished questioning my methods." She arched an eyebrow at him again, questioning him, and probably his own methods.

"I apologize, serah-"

"I asked you to call me Kahrin, Vael."

"Kahrin. I must be tired and hungry. It makes me less than amicable. The Chantry here will gladly take us in for the night."

"I'd prefer to find an inn, so we can plan our move for tomorrow."

He tensed again. She was willful and demanding, sometimes unreasonably so. "The Chantry will take us for no cost, and we will not want for anything. We can still plan from there. There may be news there, also." There was a mage war brewing, and they might be able to give them some direction if anyone had seen _her_ or her _apostate_.

Kahrin looked like she might protest again, then set her jaw. "Fine. We'll do it your way, Your Highness."

"Sebastian."

"_Sebastian_. Lead on. I'm apparently not doing so effectively." She gestured calmly despite her tone with one hand as she grasped the bridle of her horse, then began petting the snout almost affectionately.

Sometimes he was not sure that her hostility was not specifically directed at him, but he had a feeling that if she didn't desire to be in his company she would not be here. He didn't know why she was out here alone. It seemed that someone like her should have someone with her. At least a fellow Warden.

Of course, he'd often thought that by this point in his life he would no longer be on his own either.

She was agitated all the time, though it only showed in her actions. She was kind with the horses, even taking the husbandry of his mare upon herself without asking, but she was brusque with him, even when being polite. Her manners were perfect, well-practiced, but stiff. She was curt with the Starkhaven and Tantervale soldiers that traveled with them, expecting them to obey her commands when she gave them as if they were her troops to order. He had to admit it irked him slightly though the soldiers bore it with enough tolerance. He presumed it was from the years of being a Commander, and he knew old habits died hard. He'd fought his as a lay brother, and now as a Prince he fought the Chantry Brother in himself as he pushed to be a leader of men and not a follower. Perhaps if he'd been a leader longer instead of following _her_ around for years he'd have less trouble adapting to his new position.

The Warden carried herself tall despite her frame, with the grace of a noblewoman who had little use for the social graces of Court. She was business, and it wasn't entirely unbecoming.

The Chantry gave him solace. He kneeled on the stiff bench in front of the rows and rows of candles and bowed his head. A real meal had pulled him back from his seeming temper, and he no longer felt as short as he had before.

_Maker give me strength. Guide me as I carry on your work. Stay my hand from harming your children needlessly._

_And thank you for placing an ally in my path. May we find what we seek with your guidance..._

She cleared her throat behind him. "How can you breathe in all this incense?"

He sighed and rose from the kneeling bench, his reverie broken. "You don't notice it after a while. And the contemplation is good for the soul. Do you not pray, serah Cousland?"

"Not since I was a girl. And only then when I had to. I don't think the Maker hears me."

"The Maker hears us. He simply doesn't always answer in the ways we would like."

"Was his answer to take everything I'd ever cared about from me?"

He had no response to that. It stung awfully close, and it was also the closest she'd come to exposing a feeling at all.

"I understand your loss. Sometimes it helps to pray, I find." He paused, considering her hard face, the stoic set of her mouth and the lines of her tattoo around her vacant eyes.

"I hardly think you do. Otherwise you would not think prayer would help."

"I don't think it will stop the hurt. But sometimes it helps when you feel useless against the pain."

It was like a crack in her veneer. The momentary flash across her eyes, the slight furrow between her eyebrows. He knew what she'd lost. A wiping of a house like that spread fast among nobility, and it was not unlike his own loss. Two strides later he was in front of her.

"You don't know." She spat.

"No. But I've lost also. The Grand Cleric, she was like..." he had no idea why he wanted to share this. It hurt to talk about her. It filled him with so much rage, and it made him feel like a hollow mockery of a man, this mission. But it was all he had. She deserved to be avenged. "She was like another mother to me." He met her eyes and stared. "Come."

He took her hand, and she jerked, but he grasped it. Her eyes widened. How long had it been since another person had shown her the kindness of a friendly gesture.

"Don't."

"Let us light candles for them."

She resisted at first. She looked smaller without her plates and helm. Somehow with the armour she managed to take up space that she didn't physically. She looked softer with her hair down. She wore it back so tight that it sometimes made her face look severe. There was so much of it that it betrayed the fact now that she was a woman and he suddenly felt shy about being so forward. He switched to a gentle elbow grasp, which won him a deep frown.

"Candles?" She glared at him as if he were daft.

"Lighting candles for the souls of the faithfully departed. They guide them to the side of the Maker."

"My family died over ten years ago. If they aren't with your Maker now-"

"It is the symbolism. The gesture that matters. It gives you something to hold onto." He pulled gently at her elbow as she reluctantly followed him to the bench and knelt beside him. He took the long match and lit a new candle in a long row, then two more...one for each of their families and one for Elthina.

"This is ridicu-"

"Shhh. Serah-"

"It's Kahrin."

"Yes. Forgive me. Be silent with me now, for just a moment. Just for them."

She stared at him blankly for one moment, a slight fire in her eyes finally, but she said nothing else, her face smooth.

He closed his eyes and murmured softly. "Blessed are the souls of the faithful as the descend to your right hand. Guide them and watch over them. Guide us and keep us, the living, as we strive to do your work."

He didn't know if it was the Maker or himself he was serving, but for now, he could not turn from his mission. If, however, he could offer a balm in this moment, perhaps it would afford him a bit of forgiveness.

He glanced sideways just a moment and her face was turned down, though her eyes were not closed. She stared at her hands folded on her knees, and for whatever reason, he wasn't sure, but he reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

"There is no weakness in grief. It drives us on."

"You don't think I know this? I'm finished grieving, Sebastian. I'm _angry_."

"It shows. I recognize it. I have felt that kind of anger. I still feel it."

"Good. Because you'll need to hold onto it, to be good and angry, because when we find them, you'll need more than candles in your memory. Whatever image gets you there, keep that fresh in your mind. And don't forget it. That is what we will need." She gripped his hand back tight enough for it to hurt, grinding the bones in his bow hand slightly, then sliding her fingers in between his, and tightening that hold. She had an iron grip, a warrior's grip, making him wince slightly. "You may also want to have care before deciding to be kind to me. It hasn't ended well for others."

She released his hand and stood in a fluid motion, walking from the small room with little sound.

He swallowed.


	3. Chapter 3

She walked briskly down the corridor of the dark Keep in Ansburg, her greaves making a satisfying sound on the flagstones. Their Commander had given her a heavy file that had been an interesting read, to be sure.

She'd never cared much for Stroud, his mustache, his accent, or his attitude towards her. He'd often made it known that, Hero or no, she'd been much too young and inexperienced to have her own command, and the events surrounding Anders didn't do much to disprove his argument. She cared little for what Anders had done, what Justice had done. The mage revolution concerned her little. That had been brewing for a long time, and it wasn't her business.

She had only one concern, and it didn't even really involve Anders except that her new partner wanted him desperately, and she had promised to assist him.

She knew how to keep promises.

However, she was not amused that it had taken the sodding Prince so long to reveal this little bit of information.

She spoke softly but firmly to him as they moved to the office she'd been allotted. "Sebastian. In the future, I expect you to share these details with me. Not just let them drip out conveniently. Are we clear?"

She was still a bit thrown with him after the incident in the Chantry. She needed him focused if he was going to be a part of this, and not constantly waffling back and forth between being hardened to the task ahead of them, and occasionally softening and trying to be friendly and companionable.

She had no time for that.

"I'm not one of your wardens to order about, Kahrin, nor one of my soldiers whom you seem to think are yours to command." He stopped and gave her defiant look. So, he had a spine. It was good to know. "I am the Prince of Starkhaven, and you would do well to remember that."

He was pulling rank on her. She was mildly impressed, though she wouldn't let it show. She merely arched an eyebrow at him. "As His Royal Highness wishes. In the future, however, it would ease our task considerably, if you would let me know of warden connections to your apostate friend. I might have been able to bring us here sooner." She gave him a curt nod and strode the rest of the way to the office.

The young man waiting for her stood to attention when they walked in. Good. He knew his place.

He was tall. Very tall. Broad through the shoulders with a high brow and dark hair.

In another life, she might have admired the build of him right away. Truth be told, he was remarkably attractive, right down to the extremely serious look on his face when he addressed her with a respectful bow, arms crossed over his chest plate.

"Warden Hawke." She set the file down on the table and smiled.

"Commander Cousland. It's a privilege."

Good. They were off to a wonderful start.

"Allow me to introduce my companion, His Royal Highness, Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven." She watched his face for any hint of recognition. His eyes twitched only slightly, and there was a slight curl downward at the corner of his mouth.

He didn't know Vael, but he'd heard of him.

"Your Highness."

"Please, just Sebastian is fine, really."

"Carver Hawke," she began, sliding up onto the table and opening the file Stroud had given her. "Impressive record. Spotless. You're a fine man, it seems. Commander Stroud tells me you follow orders flawlessly, that you've been a model Warden. I respect that. Were you under my command you would be considered for promotion." She stopped and looked at him, and noticed a hint of pink crossing his face. Good.

"Uh, well. Um, thank you, Ser. Commander."

"Kahrin's fine."

"Kahrin, then."

"Seems your family has a long history with the Wardens. In an odd way, it should make you a bit proud. You were practically born for this, Warden." She was nothing, if not familiar with how to work a person's ego a bit.

"I suppose you could look at it that way, Comman- Kahrin."

She slid off of the table and flipped another page in the file.

"I'll cut to the chase, Hawke. I'm looking for an associate of your sister. A mage. He was a fellow Warden under my command." She watched his face for a reaction, and noted it. "When's the last time you saw them?"

He ran a hand over the back of his head. "Not for a few years. You probably know he's the one who found the Wardens and convinced them to take me."

He grinned a little, and she wasn't so dead inside that it wasn't one she found unattractive.

He was also lying.

"All right, then. Thank you for your time, Warden." She smiled and waved her hand at the door and watched as he took a couple of steps towards it. She set the file down and pushed Sebastian back behind her with one hand. Hawke was much bigger than she was, and she didn't have much chance for advantage, so it would be a matter of timing.

Her quickness was one thing she could count on.

She smote the man against the wall and he hit his head rather hard, enough to daze him briefly, and in the moment while his reactions were dulled she pulled the murderknife from her boot and slammed it into his right shoulder, between his chest and shoulder plates. He had height and strength, so she had to use everything else. She slammed her vambrace against his throat as he shouted at her in obvious pain.

"Cousland, have you lost your sense?" Sebastian stepped towards her.

"Back off, Vael!" She hissed at the rogue.

"Fuck! What's wrong with you?" The Warden grunted and looked at her in shock.

"You were there the day the Chantry went down. You were given leave to go to your sister's aid. I know you at least know where she was headed." She gave the knife a subtle twist. She hated being lied to, but even as the rage swelled within her the set of her face was cool and looked impossibly calm. "I don't care one way or the other, but there are consequences for deserters."

He was sweating and he tried to swallow against her gauntlet. "Look, I really don't know. They, they took a ship. That's all I know."

He was still lying. At least partly, but it was good enough. They were no longer here, and that was something. Plus, Stroud would not appreciate her letting him bleed out on the floor, not that she gave a rip what Stroud thought. She wasn't a murderer. At least she didn't think so.

She clenched her jaw now when she spoke. "You would do well to remember that when a superior asks you something, that you should answer, you little shit. Truthfully. Ever lie to me again, and I'll have you transferred to my command just so I can show you what happens to insubordinate little arses. You're sodding lucky you're pretty." Kahrin yanked the knife from his shoulder and wiped it on his tunic before sticking it back in her boot, giving him an almost sympathetic look. "You'll want to see a healer before you lose the ability to swing with that arm, Hawke. It would be a pity to waste a Warden like you. Let's go, Vael."

They were to their horses before Sebastian grabbed her by the arm. "What in the name of the Maker just happened in there?" His expression was a mix between incredulous and horror. "You never told me you were a templar, Cousland."

She looked at his hand on her with wide, vacant eyes. "I'm not. And if you kept up on your Ferelden history, Your Highness, you might know that. King Maric had two sons. One of them fostered in the Chantry and trained as a templar, until he became a Warden. That Warden taught me everything he knew. For protection. There is magic out there you have never seen. It also has proven useful occasionally."

"Still," he growled at her, leaning closer, "was that necessary? That was barbaric!"

"Do you want to find your mage or not, Sebastian?" She tilted her head and grabbed the front of his chest plate and pulled his face down level with hers, until she could feel his breath on her face and look straight in his eyes. "If your answer is yes, then you had best get used to some things being necessary that you may never have considered before. He was lying to us. Then he wasn't. I got what we needed. If your stomach can't handle it, my dear Prince, perhaps we should rethink this partnership."

They stared at one another like that for several moments, then finally he released her arm, and then she let go of his collar. He straightened and looked at her coolly.

"Of course. You're right. These are desperate times. We'd best be on our way. We can back track and catch a ship out of Kirkwall, if you like. I know several sailors who would be willing to take us to Highever." He guided her gelding over to her and handed her the reins, his face caught in a frown.

She nodded curtly, smoothing her hair. "I think that would be best. Yes. We can comb the taverns again on the way back." She leaned her nose against the muzzle of the horse and murmured softly to her for a few moments before swinging herself up into the saddle, and then watched as he did the same, gracefully with the dexterity of a rogue.

They turned and headed back towards the coast.

If he was going to stay with her, he needed to get his head in the game. It was good he saw this. She didn't know if he was really committed to this, and he needed to be if he truly wanted the vengeance he sought.

She could teach him if he let her.


End file.
